Only in My Arms Page 31

  Ryder slipped the saddlebags off his shoulder, propped his rifle in one corner, and unfastened his gun belt. He hung the latter over the chair behind the desk, then crossed the car to the bed and sat down. There was a large basket on the middle of the covers. He opened its hinged lid and saw it was filled with food for the first leg of their journey. Ryder placed it on the floor and leaned back on his elbows. One corner of his mouth lifted in dry amusement as he watched Mary flit around the car examining one thing and then another. She made a point of checking all the lamps for oil as well as to be certain they were secure. She drew open the curtain that shielded the commode, washbasin, and toiletries from view. Availing herself of a glass of water from the keg below the washstand, Mary also familiarized herself with the contents of the oak cupboard.

  "You can't be that interested in bath salts and lavender soaps," Ryder said.

  "A lot you know," she retorted, closing the cupboard and pushing the curtain back in place. "After weeks and weeks of cold dips in that well, I'm looking forward to a warm bath in scented water." To prove her point she went over to the copper hipbath and stepped inside it. Just fantasizing what it would be like filled with steaming, fragrant water brought a flush to Mary's skin. She hugged herself, closing her eyes. "Mm," she murmured. "Can't you imagine it?"

  Ryder could—quite well. The vision of Mary up to her neck in bubbles—and nothing else—was very clear in his mind's eye. He even adjusted his vision so the bubbles only came as far as her breasts. If he looked carefully he could make out the tips of her coral nipples peeping through. It was easy to conceive of time passing and the bubbles disappearing in tiny bursts. The steam would have made the ends of her hair curl damply, and droplets of water would cling to her white shoulders. The hollow of her throat would hold the scent of lavender. Her complexion would glow with a thin film of water, like dew on the petals of a flower.

  In his mind the hipbath suddenly became large enough for two.

  "Ryder!" Mary called his name sharply.

  He blinked and sat up straighter. "What?"

  "You know what. Stop intruding on my imagination."

  A touch of ruddy color crept under his complexion, betraying the tenor of his thoughts. He didn't apologize for them though. "Well, as long as you're going to avoid this bed, I may as well live on dreams."

  Mary raised her brows skeptically and unfastened her bonnet. Stepping out of the tub, she sent the hat sailing across the car toward Ryder. He caught it and fell back on the bed as if laid low by a weapon. "Very amusing," she said dryly.

  Lifting one corner of his mouth was as much amusement as he could muster.

  Watching him, Mary shook her head bemusedly. He could make her heart turn over with so little effort that sometimes it stung her pride. She constantly battled being too easily led, afraid she was surrendering so much of herself that she would not know where she left off and he began. He did not seem to have the same concerns. Ryder could give himself up to any moment and still come away whole.

  She asked him about it later. They were lying comfortably in the narrow bed, the crisp sheets and covers in a tangled disarray about them. He had made love to her with such sweet passion that Mary's skin still tingled. "How do you do it?" she asked, leaning over him, her forearms crossed on his chest. He was so utterly at peace now, his features calm and untroubled, it was difficult to equate him with the man whose taut body had rocked her only minutes earlier. Tension had engraved the lines of his face then, working a muscle in his jaw, straining the cords of his neck. She had held him, running her fingers along his back, feeling the rigid musculature beneath her palms. He had filled her and she had tightened around him. She had actually been able to feel her body respond to his thrust as if it could halt his withdrawal. There was an ache between her thighs now, a sensation of something lost. Mary could sense the shape of her own body because of the absence of his.

  She didn't want an answer to her question any longer. She wanted him again. Inside her.

  Mary moved so that she was lying fully along the length of his body. She saw his eyes widen a fraction and then darken with pleasure, surrender, and arousal. Her mouth touched his and she kissed him hard, drawing it out deeply as her tongue speared his. Her breath came in tiny gasps. He drew in air with no less difficulty, as selfish of the intensity of the kiss as she.

  Mary's sensitive breasts rubbed his chest. Her nipples grazed his skin, and the contact was like a current running between them. The sensation was almost greater than her tolerance, the pleasure so furious and heated that it bordered on pain. Between her thighs she was warm and wet and ready for him again.

  She raised herself up, pushing on her hands. His hands cupped her breasts as she moved to center herself over him. It wasn't possible that he should be ready for her again, not so soon. It had never happened before, and Ryder had not expected it, but at this moment it didn't seem to matter what was possible. He responded to her urgency, to the heat and passion that filled her and spilled onto him. Her supple body moved against him like liquid fire. Her hand closed over his rigid member and she eased herself onto him. It was no vaguely sleepy-eyed, suggestive glance that riveted Ryder's attention. Mary's look captured the deliberateness of her actions, the self-awareness of her body and its movements against his.

  It was exciting beyond reason.

  His hands slipped away from her breasts and slid over her waist and abdomen. He thrust his fingers between their bodies and stroked her as she rocked. She cried out. No words, just a hoarse cry of elemental passion. Her head was flung back; her pelvis tilted forward. The line of her body was a sensual curve.

  Ryder's entire frame arched as Mary forced his release. He caught her as she collapsed against him, trembling. Tendrils of damp hair clung to her temples and her skin glowed. He could feel her heart pound, ease, and then pound again. His fingers flicked her hair away from her brow. He cupped the side of her face, turned, and eased himself out of her. "Don't move," he said huskily. If she touched him again he would simply come out of his skin.

  Mary didn't. She lay very still as blood roared in her ears and her breathing calmed.

  Ryder turned on his side and propped himself on one elbow. Only one lamp in the car was still lit. Its light flickered weakly as the car jerked once and then began to move. They were finally underway, just as Rennie had promised. No questions. No complications.

  Ryder amended his last thought. Perhaps one complication... and he was looking at her now. "Suppose you tell me what that was about," he said.

  Mary was staring at the paneled ceiling of the private car. Intricate scrollwork engraved each of the mahogany panels, and her gravely serious eyes traced the edges.

  "Mary?"

  She was worrying her lower lip now, struggling to come to terms with the enormity of her own thoughts. "Why is it when you say my name, I feel compelled to answer?"

  He smiled slightly. "The Apache do not use a person's given name frivolously. It is reserved for more important moments, and the person called upon is obliged to grant favor when their name is used at such times." Ryder gathered the sheet and quilt that had been pushed to the side and drew the covers over them. "You may not be aware of it, but you use my name in much the same way."

  "I do?"

  "You do. I find myself responding as if it were Naiche or Josanie or any other Chiricahua asking a boon." He considered her a moment longer, waiting for the answer she had yet to give.

  It was his patience that undid Mary. From the very first she had known he would always be able to outwait, if not outwit, her. He even seemed to enjoy the wait while she could not bear it. "I love you, you know."

  Ryder was silent, watching her.

  "I didn't know what it would be like to act on it or say it. I was afraid, I suppose. I thought it would make me part of you in a way that would be intolerable for me. And yet I have never doubted you loved me, even though you've never said the words. I watch and experience your expressions of love and marvel that you seem
to be unchanged by them, that you are not different, only richer."

  Ryder let his fingertips drift lightly across Mary's collarbone and then rest on her shoulder. "Because you have always been part of me," he said. "From the beginning. Not from the moment we met, but from the moment we were. There has been a place for you in my heart, under my skin." He touched his temple. "Here, in my head. The spirit of you has always been here, and when you are with me in the flesh it is deeper and truer and... richer."

  Mary felt as if something inside her soared and took flight; yet there was no sense of loss. It was the difference between something being set free and something escaping. One could be celebrated, the other mourned. She turned and was captured in his arms. Her smile took his breath away as she settled contentedly against him.

  "Go to sleep," he said when she looked as if she might want to talk.

  "But—"

  "Mary."

  Her eyes closed dreamily. "All right," she said. "Since you said it like that."

  * * *

  In Tucson their car was coupled to a Northeast train headed to Santa Fe. From Santa Fe they traveled northeast to Topeka. Their transit was smooth. Rennie had made good on her promise to telegraph the directions ahead, and Ryder and Mary were largely undisturbed.

  They read a great deal, sometimes spending entire evenings together without exchanging a word. Mary found a deck of cards in the armoire and proceeded to relieve Ryder of his shirt and a good deal more with her expert poker play. Meals were brought to them but left on the balcony of their car as per Rennie's instructions and the DO NOT DISTURB sign Mary hung over the door. The porters and conductor accepted their reclusive behavior without any overt curiosity. It made Mary wonder if her sister and brother-in-law spent as much time making love as Ryder and she did.

  She quickly dismissed the thought as unseemly, and when Ryder asked why she was blushing she tossed a pillow at him rather than answer.

  In St. Louis they dared step off the train and took dinner in a hotel restaurant where no one knew them or suspected they were fugitives. They ate catfish and new potatoes, asparagus with cream sauce, cold potato soup, and salad. They sampled three different wines and then finished the meal with fruit, cheese, and coffee flavored with a sweet vanilla liqueur.

  After their meal they strolled in the park and took a carriage ride along the river. It was a pleasure to be among people who only gave them cursory glances and went about their business. They could have been any couple sharing the romantic glow of St. Louis's gaslight, and for a few hours they pretended that's all they were.

  They returned to the train unnoticed by the employees of Northeast Rail. Their car was already coupled to the line that was headed east to Columbus. Mary and Ryder settled into the routine they had enjoyed since leaving Tucson. There was a fraction more restlessness in each of them following the brief respite, but neither commented on it.

  As their car passed through Ohio, Mary was conscious of Ryder sitting close to the windows and watching the landscape roll by. It was still the heart of winter. The engine carrying them across the flat farmland had to plow through the great drifts that had blown across the tracks.

  "In my mind it's always summer here," he told her.

  Mary sat on his lap as he tipped back the chair against the lip of the desk. "What was it about summer that you liked?"

  "Fishing with my father," he said without hesitation. "Stealing green apples from Mrs. O'Reilley's backyard. The Fourth of July."

  "Hmm. I love parades, too."

  He shook his head. "Fireworks. My friends and I would tie a string of 'crackers to—" He stopped. Mary was looking very disapproving. "Well," he said sheepishly. "The cat never got hurt."

  "That's awful, Ryder McKay."

  "I suppose you never did anything like that."

  "Of course I didn't," she said with righteous indignation. "I didn't have to. I had four younger sisters to torment."

  * * *

  Mary trimmed Ryder's hair as the train approached Wheeling. She was reluctant and he was insistent. It was only when he started to cut his hair himself that she relented. To suit herself, she left it long enough to brush his collar in the back.

  She returned the scissors to the desk drawer then stood just to Ryder's left as he examined her work in a handheld mirror. Mary smoothed the ends of his hair with her fingertips. "Well, Sampson?" she asked. "Will it suit?"

  Ryder turned the mirror so it contained both their reflections. "Admirably. I look like thousands of other Easterners."

  She cocked one eyebrow. "Hardly." Slipping an arm through his and laying her head on his shoulder, Mary said, "I'd still notice you in a crowd."

  He smiled at that. "Are you trying to seduce me, Delilah?"

  "Just want to see if you have any strength left."

  Ryder put down the mirror, lifted Mary off her feet, carried her to the narrow bed, and tickled her helpless. Laughter marked their lovemaking this time and Mary embraced the sheer joy of it.

  Still smiling, albeit a little weakly now, Mary lay back. "Have you thought about children?" she asked.

  Ryder stopped punching the pillow under his head, no longer caring if it conformed to a comfortable shape. He sat up and studied her face. Was that smile just a little smug? he wondered. A bit secretive? "Are you—" He stopped. It wasn't possible. At least not that she would know. She had had her flow just after they left Tucson. It had been the source of some embarrassment to her and a disappointment to him. The truth be known, he had thought about children. "I want children," he said quietly.

  Mary lifted her hand and touched his forearm, stroking it lightly. She heard the faint echo of grief in his words. "Tell me about your daughter," she said. "What was her name?"

  He told her the Apache word. "It means One-Who-Smiles. It was her baby name. The Apache are given a name at birth and take another when they are older. It's part of the passage from child to adult." Ryder looked away from Mary, his gaze becoming more distant with the rush of memories. "Her little face was as round as the moon, and her eyes were dark, like her mother's. Her hair was every bit as black as mine and softer than corn silk. It seemed she was born smiling. That smile was contagious, like laughter, and the old women in the tribe always remarked on it. She was interested in everything around her, curious to the point of being in trouble several times a day. She was the child who would go too close to the fire, or climb too high, or wade too deep. She had to touch a cactus spine to be certain it was as sharp as she was warned. Everyone indulged her, though. I think it was her smile. She won us all over."

  When Ryder glanced at Mary again he saw there were tears in her eyes. He touched the corner of her eye with the pad of his thumb. "Dear, dear Mary," he said softly. "Yes, I want to have a child. You've made room in my heart for one again."

  He held out his arms and made room for her there.

  * * *

  There were telegrams waiting for them in Pittsburgh. The porter slipped them under the door of their private car soon after their arrival. All of them were addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan, but Mary suspected that from the volume of messages, Rennie and Jarret had told the rest of the family what she was up to.

  Mary found a letter opener in the desk and sliced the first telegram open. She sat on the edge of the desk to read.

  "Well?" Ryder asked. He was stretched out comfortably on the bed, reading a Wilkie Collins mystery, but when Mary remained silent for so long, curiosity drew him away. "Is it Rennie?"

  She shook her head. "This one is from Mama," she said slowly. She read it aloud. " 'You must love him. I pray you know I understand.' " Mary looked up. There was a soft smile lifting the corners of her mouth. "I think this means she's come to terms with my decision."

  Ryder closed the book and set it aside. "It sounds as if she's come to terms with her own decision," he said. When Mary looked at him oddly, he explained. "I only know what you've told me, but it seems that your mother was not so certain of the choices she made. She hi
d it from herself, so it's no surprise that she was successful in hiding it from everyone she loved. Well, perhaps not everyone. You, more than the others, seemed to suspect that her long affair with your father had deeply personal ramifications. She did find solace in the fact that you had made your vows with God."

  "And when I told her I was leaving the sisters..."

  He nodded, reading the expression on her face, knowing what was in her thoughts. "It opened the Pandora's box of uncertainties. Moira had to revisit her decision all over again." He pointed to the telegram. "I think she's telling you that if she were to do it over, her choice would be exactly the same."

  Mary read the telegram again before slowly folding it. "I think you're right," she said. "In fact, I'm quite sure of it."

  As pleasurable as it was to bask in the glow of Mary's satisfaction, Ryder's attention turned to the other telegrams. "I doubt your father's message will be so welcoming."

  Mary plucked another telegram at random and sliced it open. "This is from Maggie. She wishes us success and hopes you are doing well. She's even given me the name of three medicines to try if your leg is not completely healed." Mary shook her head, amused. "It seems Rennie couldn't wait to fill them all in on the details. It might as well have been my sister who found us in the cavern as Jarret. And I'm certain Rennie embellished that business at that mining camp. Maggie asks if it's true that I stood toe to toe with Geronimo."

  Ryder laughed. "What else do you have there?"

  Mary opened another. "From Ethan and Michael," she said. " 'WIRE US IF YOU NEED HELP.' " She grinned. "Ethan's a federal marshal. That could indeed assist us."

  "It couldn't hurt."

  "And don't forget that Michael's a reporter. She knows how to get a story published. That could mean a lot when it comes time to publicly clear your name."

  "You have quite a few family connections."

  "More than you know," she said serenely. Michael's godfather was a judge. Rennie's, a bishop. Maggie and Skye had godparents in politics, and her own godfather was the director of one of the largest financial houses in New York. She told all this to Ryder and added, "Jay Mac wanted to see that we were all protected from some of the censure society coldly reserves for bastard children. His foresight didn't make us respectable, but it did make us respected—more or less." She paused. "Why are you smiling?"